


to be alone with you

by owilde



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Asexual Character, Attempt at Humor, Dialogue Heavy, Getting Together, M/M, Only Vaguely A Christmas Fic, Romance, Timeline What Timeline, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-28 01:17:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17173106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owilde/pseuds/owilde
Summary: From: Oswald [10:03 pm]We can arrange something.From: Oswald [10:03 pm]I’ll be there in five.Jim looked at the time. 10:06.Was it against the regulations to half-intentionally coax a criminal into keeping him company? Probably.





	to be alone with you

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know where this would be set, realistically - I just wanted these two to fucking talk for once, honestly. 
> 
> Title taken from Sufjan Stevens' song by the same name.

Jim had never been a Christmas person. He thought it was frivolous, and a waste of money, and besides – they never even had proper snow, did they? And more to the point, it didn’t seem very logical to celebrate something that appeared to necessitate spending said holiday with your family or loved ones when the closest Jim had to family was Harvey, who’d already announced his traditional annual pub crawl weeks ahead, and Bruce Wayne, who Jim thought probably had better things to do than invite a deadbeat cop over to his mansion.

So, when the opportunity had risen for him to do overtime on the 25th, Jim had pounced towards it with lightning speed. Being stuck at the GCPD beat being stuck inside his apartment, where the most holiday appropriate thing he’d done had been to buy Christmas beer.

No one else, it seemed, particularly wanted to be stuck at GCPD doing paperwork and organizing existing files on Christmas Day.

Jim was fine with this. With the rest of the building virtually abandoned, he could kick back a little. Lift his feet on the table. Use a coffee mug without a coaster, despite the faint rings it left on the pristine white files. Take his jacket off and roll his sleeves up, even, if he wanted to – maybe even loosen his tie.

When everyone else shuffled out around nine, whether to go home or to do their mandatory, everyone-hates-you-so-you’re-on-duty-for-Christmas patrol, Jim stayed behind. He’d piled his missing reports on his desk already, a neat stack of papers waiting to be properly labeled and categorized. He had a fresh cup of coffee, still steaming and hot to the touch.

He had Harvey, staring at him with a vaguely disgusted expression.

Jim lifted his gaze, meeting Harvey’s eyes with a raised brow. “Yeah?”

Harvey shook his head slightly. He had his coat on already, and the ugly scarf Jim had given him ages ago wrapped around his neck. “You make me feel bad, man,” he said, gesturing towards Jim’s desk. “Paperwork on Christmas? I know you have a hard on for all this bureaucratic nonsense, but Jim, you’re killing me.”

Jim shrugged, averting his eyes. “What else do you except me to do? Sulk at home?”

“It’s what you already do,” Harvey pointed out. “How’s tonight any different?”

Jim didn’t answer. He didn’t really feel like explaining that the holidays made him miss everything and anything under the sun, in a painfully poignant way. An empty beer case reminded him of his father, all the decorations brought to mind his mother’s delight in dolling their house up every year. Empty take-out containers were a lifted tradition from when he and Barbara got too lazy to cook anything fancy – fancy cooking was an indulgence he got into with Lee.

There were memories lurking in every corner of his apartment, and Jim wasn’t up to confronting those particular ghosts of Christmas past.

“It just is,” he said aloud, moving the pile of files closer and reaching over to grab an extra pen from Harvey’s desk. “You go and have fun, Harvey. Report to me where you wake up in the morning this time.”

Harvey, who understood Jim even when he didn’t want to, let the subject go. “Oh, you bet your ass I will,” he said with a grin that Jim thought would’ve made any daytime drinker and casual one night stand enthusiast proud. “Wanna make a bet on the district?”

Jim gave him a weary look. “How much are we talking?”

It was Harvey’s turn to shrug. “Ten on Burnley.”

“Ten on Diamond,” Jim countered. “You’re not getting that far in that weather.”

“I do now I’ve got incentive,” Harvey said. He took one final look at Jim, and sighed heavily. “Sometimes I gotta wonder if you were made for police work, or if police work was made for you.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Jim muttered, reaching out for the paper at the top of the pile.

“Yeah,” Harvey called out, walking away. “I kinda figured you would.”

Jim listened to his footsteps trail away and for the front door to slam shut behind him, before he let go of the paper with a sigh and leaned back against his chair, shoulders slumped. He reached out for his coffee mug and took a sip, eyeing the small paper tower with equal parts excitement and exhaustion.

Was this what his life had boiled down to? Was he really this lonely?

Jim pulled his phone out and scrolled through his pathetically short contact list. There were colleagues he wasn’t that close to, people he didn’t want to disturb – there were numbers he should’ve deleted ages ago, but never found the courage to.

Jim hesitated on Lee’s name, thumb hovering over the call button. But she had better things to do. Better people to spend time with.

He scrolled further down, and stopped again at Oswald.

Jim had saved him under his first name. That probably meant something he didn’t really want to spend time analyzing, if he was being honest, in the same way that he didn’t want to analyze a lot of things when it came to him, Oswald, and the two of them as a unit.

They’d been dancing around it for too long, now. Jim had never been very good at dancing – two left feet, he’d been told. Maybe it was time he stumbled closer.

He clicked the contact information open and stared at the phone number, worrying his lower lip. Calling seemed personal. Kind of desperate. And Jim really didn’t want to be the person who called a career criminal whilst doing overtime work for the police force.

He went back and into his text messages, scrolling again until he found his thread with Oswald. It was a short account of their hesitant road towards a truce – neither wanted to take the first step over the invisible line they’d drawn in the sand.

Jim took another sip of his coffee, and frowned. He set the mug down and typed up a message, hitting send before he could start overthinking it. He placed the phone next to the mug, and dragged his chair closer towards the desk. Finally, he flicked the table lamp on, picked up his pen, and set to work on going through filing the reports he’d neglected, or which Harvey had dumped on him.

He got through five reports before his phone beeped to inform him of a new text.

Jim paused, halfway through a word, and glanced at the phone. He took a breath in, let one out.

It was just a _text._

He flipped his phone open and bit the bullet.

  


**To: Oswald [9:20 pm]** Hey. Merry Christmas.

  


**From: Oswald [9:45 pm]** Merry Christmas to you, too, James.

 **From: Oswald [9:45 pm]** Have you planned any festive activities for tonight?

  


Jim blinked at the screen, eyes flickering back and forth across it. He looked up and glanced around the GCPD, as if he could find answers from the empty, dust-filled space.

Did Oswald mean to ask him if he was busy? Or was he, as per usual, being more polite than necessary?

  


**To: Oswald [9:50 pm]** Not necessarily, unless working overtime counts.

  


He hit send, and this time, didn’t resume his work. Oswald texted back within seconds.

  


**From: Oswald [9:51 pm]** Overtime? At the precinct?

  


**To: Oswald [9:51 pm]** Where else? It’s just some paperwork that’s overdue.

  


**From: Oswald [9:54 pm]** Still. I presume the rest of the flock has abandoned you?

  


**To: Oswald** **[9:55 pm]** Well, they have actual people to spend the occasion with.

  


There was no response for a while. Jim stared at his phone until the screen went dark, then pushed it aside again and left to make another pot of coffee. His paperwork wasn’t going anywhere – at this rate, he might as well have gone home to drink his sad beers by himself, go to bed early and lie awake staring at his ceiling until he was too exhausted to keep his eyes open anymore.

The filtered coffee at the station wasn’t terrible, and Jim supposed its main attraction and reason for existence was to keep a bunch of chronically sleep-deprived people awake enough to do their jobs, but at 10 pm on Christmas, he thought maybe he would’ve liked to indulge in something like a latte, instead.

By the time he got back, he had two new messages waiting.

  


**From: Oswald [10:03 pm]** We can arrange something.

 **From: Oswald [10:03 pm]** I’ll be there in five.

  


Jim looked at the time. 10:06.

Was it against the regulations to half-intentionally coax a criminal into keeping him company? Probably. Jim downed half of his coffee, made a face at the bitterness and sat down. He didn’t really know what to do with himself – he loosened his tie, then regretted doing so. It looked sloppy. And potentially inviting. He ditched the tie altogether, then shrugged his jacket off.

Was there a dress code for this? Oswald always looked impeccable; maybe Jim should’ve kept the tie.

He was beginning to consider raiding Harvey’s desk for booze when the main doors were pushed open. Jim turned his head to see Oswald, minus the usual entourage, make his way inside. He was covered in wet snow, and leaning heavily on his walking stick – as soon as he noticed Jim, though, his sour expression caused by the circumstances melted away into a smile.

“James,” he called out, and began slowly limping over. “I must say, I did not expect to hear from you tonight – or, any night, for that matter. Not that I’m not delighted, but–”

“I was just…” Jim started, cutting him off, needing for Oswald to shut up for a moment. Now that he was there, tangible and not a faraway idea or a text on the other end of the line, Jim’s nerves resurfaced.

This was a terrible idea. He should’ve been at home. He should’ve called Lee, instead.

Oswald sat down on Harvey’s chair, tilting his head to look at Jim. There was a knowing glint in his eyes, but Jim had come to the conclusion that it was always there, no matter what. “You were just?” He prompted, lips quirking into a quick smile.

Jim traced the drop of water that fell from the tips of Oswald’s hair and traveled across his face, disappearing down towards his neck. He snapped his gaze back up. “I think maybe we should talk.”

Oswald inclined his head in agreement. “I think you’re right.” He paused. “Why don’t you start. Why did you reach out to me?”

“I...” Jim trailed off, and averted his eyes to look at his coffee instead. “I didn’t want to be alone.”

“And… you’re saying that _I’m_ your only option for company?”

“Yeah,” Jim said, dragging his hand over his face. “Yeah, you are. Imagine that, huh?”

Oswald huffed a laugh. “Some years ago, I would’ve been thrilled,” he said candidly. “I still _am_ , but Jim, I have no intention of being your last resort, if that is what this is. I’m not a leftover piece of cake for the proverbial starving man.”

Jim looked back at him quickly, frowning. “I never said that was what this is.”

Oswald’s smile looked bitter. “I’m quite adept at reading between the lines.”

“Well, you’re reading wrong.” Jim bit the inside of his cheek, eyes still fixed on Oswald. In the dim light of the table lamp, his features seemed starker than usual, his edges sharp. Jim had never been that good at avoiding sharp objects. “Oswald, you… you’re not a leftover anything.”

Oswald quirked a brow. “No? So, after your failed stints with Barbara, Leslie and whoever else you’ve managed to trick into thinking you’re a good decision, you’re not desperate to prove yourself wrong?”

The coffee had gone lukewarm. Jim pushed his cup further away. “Prove myself wrong on what?”

“That you can’t hold a relationship,” Oswald said, his tone matter of fact and precise like a scalpel. “That you’re fundamentally broken, and no amount of people you use as bandages is going to fix it until _you_ do something about it.” He sniffled, and looked around them, a dry smile playing on his lips. “James, you’re doing paperwork on Christmas. You’ve called upon _me_ to keep you company. You yearn for normalcy, but then run away from it the second it presents itself.” Oswald paused, considering his words. “I like you, James. We both know I harbor… affections, for you. But I don’t know how you feel. I don’t know what you want from me.”

His words rang in Jim’s mind. His flaws, laid bare before him – and it wasn’t even a comprehensive list – by a man who, by all accounts, should’ve been worse than Jim. Or did Jim only like to hide behind his moral superiority, the very one that had been slowly crumbling for years now? What was the fundamental difference between him and Oswald?

The difference, Jim thought, was that Oswald knew himself.

“What do I want?” He asked, slowly.

“Yes,” Oswald said – Jim could hear his patience wearing thin. “I’m not interested in warming your bed, now or ever. If sex is what you’re after, I hate to disappoint, but–”

“No,” Jim cut in. “I’m not – no. I just want...”

What did he want? And why was this so difficult?

Barbara had been easy, straightforward – until she hadn’t been. Lee, Valerie… they’d all started from a point of simplicity and then escalated into something more, something Jim couldn’t control anymore. Was it him, or was it Gotham?

With Oswald, it had never been easy. It had been blood and ice and hate, enough hate to suffocate them both, and something stronger than that – a connection that Jim remembered a younger, softer Oswald telling him about, a pull for _something_.

Jim had ignored it for a long while. Now, with Oswald sitting in across from him, _asking –_ and it was a simple question, wasn’t it – he didn’t think ignoring it would do either of them any good.

Jim let out a breath, his posture crumbling. “You. That’s what I want.”

Oswald’s expression didn’t change, but his other eye twitched, almost unnoticeably. “Me,” he echoed. “In what way?”

Jim closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “Why do you have to ask?”

“Because I need you to think things through for once in your life before you dive into them head first.” Frustration was creeping into Oswald’s voice. “Because I am _tired_ of being in the dark, James – and I’ll be glad to, to keep your company if you wish it also but I will _not_ do so while you are figuring out your apparent sexuality crisis–”

Jim’s eyes shot open. “I’m not having a crisis,” he said.

Oswald frowned. “You’re always having a crisis, Jim.”

He sat up straight. “Not about this,” he insisted. “I haven’t been confused about that for years.”

Oswald eyed his suspiciously. “I find that difficult to believe. You haven’t been very receptive–”

“Because you’re _a criminal_ ,” Jim said emphatically, leaning closer across his desk. “Not because you’re a man.”

There was a pregnant pause as Oswald blinked at him, as a loss for words. Then: “So, it’s a question of morals?”

“Yes,” Jim said. “No. I don’t _know_ , but I know that I – that I think about you more often than I should, and that I wanted you over here to spend time with me, and I know that I’d probably like more of that. Preferably somewhere that isn’t the precinct that wants you behind locked doors.”

Oswald looked vaguely pained. “On that, we can agree.”

Jim took a deep breath. “This isn’t supposed to work,” he said. “But it could. It does. If you want to.”

For the first time, Oswald looked away. Jim watched the invisible cogs in his mind turn and whirl, and wondered if he would ever understand the enigma that was Oswald Cobblepot. Each time he thought he arrived to a conclusion, something changed – each time something changed, Jim was left calculating a different equation.

The precinct around them was still and silent in an eerie and atypical way. Jim spared a quick thought to wondering where Harvey was, and just how many promilles into his night he was, before dismissing the line of thought in lieu of focusing his attention on Oswald.

He was tapping his fingers absently against his cane, lost in thought. Jim didn’t know if he was considering Jim’s words, or about to proposition something of his own, or if he was maybe not thinking about anything related to them at all.

“Os–“

Oswald raised a hand to silence him. His eyes snapped back to Jim’s – they were focused, and sharp, but there was a softer edge to it. Jim felt his shoulders relax. “If we were to… do anything, about this,” Oswald started. “And that _is_ an if, James – I would wish to have some ground rules.”

Jim shrugged easily. “Sure.”

A brief, confused expression flickered across Oswald’s face, but it was gone before Jim could pay it more mind. “You’re not interested in hearing them first?”

Jim took his mostly cold cup of coffee and stood up. “Tell me while I go dump this down the drain and get a new one,” he said, moving towards the corner they generously called a kitchen. “Speak up, though,” he called out.

It was easier, if his back was to Oswald. Distance made his skin tingle less.

There was a small silence. Jim eyed the coffee pot, which still had a few cup’s worth in it, and poured it away. He busied himself with finding a new filter and their better coffee, hidden behind all the crap.

“I don’t have sex,” Oswald said eventually. He didn’t need to speak any louder than usual – his voice carried over the silence easily.

“Yes, you mentioned it,” Jim said, measuring enough water for two cups.

A pause, which Jim didn’t know whether to classify as considering or surprised. “This doesn’t bother you?”

“Not particularly.” He’d heard the gossip, the whispers – he’d given it some thought, and come to the conclusion that it didn’t really matter all that much. “I like you for more than what you could do in the bedroom, you know. I’m not that shallow.”

He heard Oswald huff a laugh. “Men, I’ve found, generally defy this particular trait of yours.”

“Well, they’re idiots.”

“Quite,” Oswald agreed. “I also don’t like to guess. You’ll need to embrace the horrifying concept of communicating.”

The coffee was dripping into the pot like black ink, one drop at a time. Jim watched the motions of it, eyes glazed over a little. “Alright,” he said. “This doesn’t sound too bad, so far. What’s the curve ball?”

There was an audible sigh. “I won’t interfere with your work,” Oswald started, “and you won’t with mine.”

It was somewhat of an expected rule. Jim bit his lip, fingers drumming the surface of the table.

He knew what Oswald was. What he did. They were, in that department, polar opposites. Jim supposed it should’ve felt like a bigger obstacle than it did. But he’d become too good at turning a blind eye every now and then – and especially so when it came to Oswald.

“Okay,” he said slowly. “So, if I were to do something in my line of duty that’d be potentially bad for your business – then what?” He turned around to look at Oswald, crossing his arms. “Do I do it anyway? Because I won’t go out of my way to prevent justice for your sake.”

Oswald met his questioning look easily. “No, I didn’t presume you would. You will do what you must, and I will do so, as well. If you wish to divulge any information to be beforehand, I would appreciate it – but I won’t ask you to.”

Jim nodded. “I can live with that.”

They stared at each other from across the room, quietly assessing the atmosphere. Jim’s heart had settled into a steady beat – not calm, but content. Oswald didn’t ask the world of him. Jim had made worse compromises in his life.

It was Oswald who broke the silence. “Your coffee seems to be finished.”

Jim twirled around to see that he was right. He poured two cups, turned the machine off, and walked back over to his desk. Oswald took the offered drink, careful not to spill any, and produced a silk napkin from his pocket to use as a make-do coaster.

The pile of reports had gone nowhere. Jim cleared his throat, and sipped his scolding hot coffee, burning his tongue in the process. “So. Wanna keep me company while I make sure your competition gets their due processing?”

Oswald’s lips curled into a delighted smile that made Jim’s heart skip a beat. “There are worse ways to spend time.” He raised his mug in a toast. “Merry Christmas, James.”

Jim clicked the mugs gently together. “Merry Christmas, Oswald.”

Outside, it continued to snow.

**Author's Note:**

> My Gotham sideblog over on tumblr can be found @jamesgcrdcn, I sometimes make gifs and stuff


End file.
